Just a bit of History
by Dark Arwen
Summary: Slash. Trinity/Persephone. Just a short'n'sweet ficlet- Trinity might have known Persephone before. And no one knows it but them.


Author's Notes:  Obviously the characters aren't mine.  I just take them out, play with them, and put them back where I found them… well, most of the time, anyway.  Please feed the review monster.  

            "Terrible." 

            She says the word to Neo, but her eyes are staring into mine; _You should have taught him better than this,_ they say. _I taught you better than this._ And it's all I can do to keep this smooth face, swallow my anger before it directs itself into my trigger finger.  
  
            "Wait."   
  
            Neo says the word to her, but it's my mind controlling his voice. And she listens, interested in this new development, but doesn't have enough time to speak before Neo's lips descend on hers.   
  
            Neo's lips. My lips. By this point it's the same thing. All I know is that on this one, I'm dying to prove her wrong- I remember her kisses. And I remember how to use them… especially on her.  
  
            There's anger there, mine, and I know she feels it, loves it, tries to drink it in as if it were water. Years of anger, smoldering darkly until her brazen 'request' fanned it into flame. Neo pulls back, looking past Persephone at the tile wall behind her. She closes her eyes, bites her lip, and I think, _I did this to her. My anger did this to her._   
  
            I'm not sure whether I'm mad because Persephone kissed _my_ Neo or because Neo kissed _my_ Persephone.  
  
            It doesn't matter- we both like it.  
  
            We were always like that. Before I woke up to the world, before Morpheus found me and pulled me out of the matrix. Fiery, angry. Like lightning, I suppose, summer storms lighting brush fires. They burn quickly but the scars are always there. I will always feel her lips on mine, and it's moments like this that I miss it.   
  
            And all I can do is stand perfectly still. Wear a perfect mask. Pretend the perfect lie is true; that I've never tasted every perfect inch of her, devoured her night after night after night. Never left the same scratches on her shoulders that she left on mine. No, she never moaned my name into the darkness. Like the prayer that it is.   
  
            Persephone heads for the door, who are we to do anything but follow? She opens doors into places that weren't there two seconds ago; it's not surprising anymore. Down marble hallways and through baroque entryways into a deep dark dungeon that doesn't surprise me any more than the blood on the walls of the library do. She always did like blood- a little crimson on white skin would bring her closer to the edge than a skilled tongue could. I smirk. Both were mine, once.   
  
            Then she throws open a cell, revealing the little man inside. Morpheus and Neo's attentions are diverted, for the moment. She steps aside to let them enter.  
  
            I don't know how she can move so fast. How she can weave her fingers into my hair, pulling my mouth onto hers in something that's hungry and desperate all at once? My hands go around her waist, pulling her closer. I know that somehow she'll take care of Time. She'll stretch the seconds the others are turned from us into a century. She's good at that sort of thing.  
  
            We kiss forever. Or so it seems. She breaks away, giving my lower lip one last bite, devilish and at the same time sharply pure. Totally Persephone. It seems almost like a punishing gesture- _how could you stay away so long?_   
  
            She holds my face, pulls back. Her eyes meet mine as if there were no dark lenses between us. As if the moon was shining through the window, illuminating the once-upon-a-time-lovers tangled in sweat soaked sheets. Persephone smiles, an expression full of tenderness. Regret. Maybe love- or that could just be imagined.   
  
            Her hand traces my jaw line, coaxing a smile on my own face.  
  
            "Such things are not made to last, Trinity," she whispers, and I know that these words, spoken both here and before, are true. She doesn't have to say them.   
  
            My tongue flicks out, tasting the blood on my lip. It's the only response I can think of. It's the only response I ever can think of. With her, words lose all meaning, become awkward hindrances. She smiles one last cat smile and the hands of the proverbial clock start to move again.  
  
            So I do the only thing you can do in regards to an encounter with Persephone.  
  
            Lick the blood off and keep on running.

  



End file.
